


Ghosting

by Addyelf22



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ghostbur, Post-Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), dadbur, mother mother, wilbur soot loves his son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Addyelf22/pseuds/Addyelf22
Summary: Wilbur watches over his sleeping son and reflects. I love the song and it reminds me of Ghostbur, plus Wilbur the creator has said it's his favorite Mother Mother song.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Kudos: 22





	Ghosting

Moonlight falls softly across the sleeping Dream SMP. It falls on L’Manberg, on El Rapids, on The Badlands, on JackManifoldLand. It falls on the podium. It falls on the cobblestone towers. A beam filters into the sewers, glimmering on the water, perhaps even casting shifting shadows on the walls of the Final Control Room. Perhaps.

Moonlight falls on Technoblade’s house, on Phil’s house, on Ghostbur’s library. It falls on Tommy’s tent in Logstedshire. It falls on Technoblade’s wanted poster.

Moonlight blankets the silent and sleeping citizens of L’Manberg and all of the lands within the Dream SMP.

Ghostbur watches his son sleep.

Fundy lies in his bed in Philza’s house, fast asleep. His breath whistles in and out through his nose, a soft sound in the still room. His pastel quilt rises and falls with his shoulder. His coat hangs from its hook. His father sits in a chair, legs curled underneath him, breathing in time with his son.  
A familiar melody plays in his head - his favorite song. It fits him perfectly.

_“I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting along. Ghost in your house, ghost in your arms.”_

Ghostbur closes his eyes, remembering.

_Fundy when he was born. The son of a salmon shapeshifter, half human, half fox shapeshifter. Wilbur held him in his arms for the first time, and cried on his son, who screamed and cried as well. Sally said he had the strongest lungs she’d ever heard. “Strong is good,” she said. She said-_

Ghostbur flinches, covering his face. “Why can’t I remember?” he whimpers. Fundy tosses fretfully in his sleep, rolling onto his back. Ghostbur freezes, watching his son. Fundy murmurs in his sleep, and slowly settles. Ghostbur risks brushing a ginger curl off of his son’s face.

_“When you're tossing, when you turn in your sleep, it's because I'm ghosting your dreams.”_

Ghostbur closes his eyes again, breathing shallowly.

_Fundy when he was a child. He had loved to watch his father work on L’Manberg. The familiar Camarvan, built before he was born, was his playground. He loved to follow along as L’Manberg was built and the walls shaped and set in concrete and blackstone by his father and Tommy, Niki and Eret. They had always been willing to help him set a brick or take a break to play with him. Niki had taught him to bake bread. Eret had taught him how to skip rocks across the water by the Camarvan._

Ghostbur opens his eyes, settling more in his chair, untensing now that Fundy seems really and truly asleep again. He leans his head back, looking around the small and comfortable room. He closes his eyes again, remembering earlier that day. It comes far more fitfully than the happier memories, and takes a conscious effort.

_Wilbur had followed his father and his son down to the fishing dock. How overjoyed he had been to watch Fundy fish, to watch his son catch his first fish! But Phil and Fundy had ignored him, and when at last they saw he was there, Fundy had barely spoken. When Wilbur told him how happy he was to see him, how proud he had been when Fundy ran for president, Fundy ignored him and walked away._

_“I will be kind and I'll be sweet, if you stop staring straight through me.”_

When Fundy met his father at the library, he had been so angry. He had yelled at him. Fundy’s words echo in Ghostbur’s head.

_“Will! Listen! Do you even know what’s wrong? Do you even know? Does it even break through? Every single time something serious comes up, you evade it. You just avoid everything. You run away from any serious consequence that might become through your actions! You walk away from it! You just smile throughout everything! You think nothing is going on! You think everything is fine! It’s not! You weren’t there for me, for a very very long time1 And then when I needed you the most, you died. Because of what? L’Manberg’s causes? Huh? You thought that was good for me? You left me, man!”_

_“I remember, I remember the days, when I'd make you oh-so afraid.”_

Ghostbur cringes. The cries are fragmented, his son’s face blurry and shadowed in his memory. He gasps and pants, and again Fundy tosses in his sleep. Wilbur presses hands to his eyes as tears leak slowly out.

_His son, the baby fox._

_His son, the curious child._

_His son, the revolutionary, barely tall enough to wield a bow._

_His son, the presidential nominee, so handsome and spiffy in his suit._

_His son, spurning him._

_What did I do to deserve this? I can’t even remember what I’ve done._

Ghostbur’s bruised, transparents eyes hang haggard and catch on his son’s peaceful face. Usually wrinkles carve Fundy’s brow and knit between his eyes. His son has always been a thinker, reserved and grave. His son has always been so smart.

_“You don't need treats, you don't need tricks, and you don't need me…”_

_Does he even need me? All I’ve done is hurt him...but I don’t even remember doing that.._

_“You just smile throughout everything! You think nothing is going on! You think everything is fine! It’s not!”_

_“Hey, would it be so bad if I stayed? I'm just a ghost out of his grave…”_

_I’m still hurting him, even now. I haven’t even done anything...I’ve tried so hard to be kind and good...to be a good dad...but I’m still hurting him._

_“You don't need poltergeists for sidekicks.”_

Wilbur looks out across L’Manberg. Through Fundy’s bedroom window he can see the podium and the wooden platforms of New L’Manberg, the grass, the bee dome, and all the land stretching to Eret’s Castle. He can see the moonlight lying across his sleeping country like a mantle of snow.

_Fundy doesn’t need me right now...and he doesn’t want me here._

Ghostbur’s eyes rest on Techno’s wanted poster. He sits there, still, unblinking. His eyes hover on his brother’s face, his ferocious eyes.

_Maybe...if my son doesn’t want me here...if my father doesn’t want me here...maybe I could find a different family. My brother, and my right-hand man._

Ghostbur’s face takes on a new sort of softness, almost a sort of life. He remembers sparring with his brother as a child, and Techno’s armory. He remembers fooling with Tommy, the fondness of their verbal jabs and elbows in each other's ribs. He remembers Tommy by his side, always. He remembers his joy when Tommy gave over his discs for L'manberg’s indipendance.

_Fundy doesn’t need me...but Tommy does._

Ghostbur pulls his son’s quilt up to his chin and gently tucks it in around him. He drinks in Fundy’s peaceful face one more time, fixing it firmly in his memory, so that it will never slip out. He turns and slips out the window, closing it securely. He sets out across the silent landscape towards the north.

_“And this is why I have decided to pull these old white sheets from my head. I'll leave them folded neat and tidy, so that you'll know I'm out of hiding. And this is why I have decided, to leave your house and home un-haunted.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I spelled independence wrong intentionally because that's how it's spelled in the SMP.


End file.
